


Not Enough

by die-forellex (heatinfreezing)



Series: What Remains [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/M, One-Sided Love, Post-Canon, Prequel, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatinfreezing/pseuds/die-forellex
Summary: Jean has always watched her, always wanted her from afar. So when she offers herself to him, he can’t resist like the fool he is because he’s always known that he’ll never truly be what she wants.





	Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I’ve written this JeanKasa oneshot for NoHate Awareness week on Tumblr! I love JeanKasa, it’s just not my OTP. Jean is my boy and I love him even if it doesn’t seem like it how he gets treated in this story. 
> 
> This takes place in the same universe as my current RivaMIka WIP (that isn’t truly titled but you can find here on AO3 if that’s your cup of tea, but it is by no means necessary to understand this story). It’s a post-canon AU where Armin and Eren are dead (sorry!!!) in a vaguely 1920s based peaceful SnK Era! I hope you guys all enjoy.

Mikasa Ackerman is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

It’s so overwhelmingly true that he doesn’t even think twice about it.

He remembers the first day he saw her so vividly; the way he’d stumbled over his words, told her he’d never seen a girl who looked like her before and she’d responded with her typical bored indifference.

If anything, it’d made her even more appealing to him, the way she didn’t want him, how she didn’t pay him any mind.

The club is filled with people. They’re lucky that they’ve managed to get a table to sit at before the band starts their first set. The sound of the musicians warming up and the hum of excited people while they drink their drinks and flirt with their partners is exciting.

He’s not sure if she is really paying attention to him over a decade later, but she’s spending time with him, if anything by virtue of him being one of only a few people left.

He knows that’s the only reason she’s spending time with him; not because she even particularly likes him or anything but because he’s familiar, because he’s been around for a while and he’s also relatively alone.

They’ve been going to a new club every night, following around her favorite bands that she quietly knows everything about.

She’s taken up smoking cigarettes and it surprises him. It’s such a frivolous vice, though he supposes that there’s a lot more time for things like that now. She sits boredly with her legs crossed, posture slouched in her chair somewhat lazily. It’s far from ladylike, but being ladylike was never the thing that drew him to her.

Men talk about her when they walk past; not about who she is, but what she looks like. Despite the fact that she’s gorgeous, it’s perhaps the most insignificant thing about her.

She’s dressed fashionably in a jade green dress that goes to her knee, a feathered headband wrapped around her forehead, her lips painted pink and lashes curled. The band starts to play their first set and he sees her perk up just slightly.

“I like this newer style, do you know any of the dances?” She asks him after a moment of listening. She exhales the last of her cigarette and extinguishes it.

_I’ve taken dance classes three times a week since we started going out together._

He feels a little flustered. She asks it in her usual, somewhat blase way of speaking that makes him feel like he’s hardly more interesting than the dirt on the soles of her shoes, but he’s something of a masochist about this kind of thing and it just makes him want her to notice him even more.

“Yeah,” he stands up and gestures for her hand. She looks at him for a moment, almost as if she finds the idea of him offering to help her stand up ridiculous, but she clasps her hand in his all the same.

He doubts that she’s taken a dance class in her life, but she’s better than him and far better than anyone else around them. Still, he can keep up with her.

Jean can tell that she loves to dance. It’s the closest he ever sees her to seeming happy, or at least something aside from apathetic. She lets him twirl her, lets him put his hands on her waist and swing her about until they’re both sweating in their nice clothes.

There’s a moment when he has her pulled close, his hand firmly on her waist, her hands on his shoulders, her chest almost flush against his, that they make eye contact and he swears that something passes between the two of them. But he knows this is impossible, that she’s never wanted him that way, that she’s his friend and he should ignore it.

After the dance ends, she pulls him off the dance floor, twines their fingers together and Jean feels his heart start to race. He doesn’t know if it’s the drinks he had earlier or the way she looks in her dress but he can’t stop thinking about how badly he wants her, how much he’s always wanted her.

_Stop that._

“I”m tired of dancing,” she says, her voice low. It’s abrupt, even for her and it makes him feel like something is off.

“O…kay?”

“Can we go back to your place?”

_No way._

He’s not going to assume anything. She probably just wants a glass of water, maybe to freshen up a bit before she goes back to the Inn she frequents on the edge of town. Put her feet up for a bit.

“Um, sure,” he says.

She’s never been to his modest apartment. It’s above a pharmacy, in a quieter part of town, about a ten minute walk from the club they were at. They both walk quickly, so it only takes about seven minutes before he unlocks the brass doorknob, takes off his shoes and walks inside.

She looks around at his place appraisingly. It is neither messy nor clean with newspapers on the coffee table, an unmade bed in the corner and a few glasses that never made it into the sink. Still, the clothes are put away in the closet and the food is kept in the pantry.

“Is there anything I can get for you?”

He doesn’t know why, but he feels nervous. No,nervous is an understatement, he actually feels a little terrified. Like he’s about to encounter something unknown, not unlike he had felt on his first expedition outside of the walls all of those years ago.

She kicks her shoes off carelessly and turns to him. She pulls off her feathered headband and lets it fall to the ground. Her beautiful black hair is messy, her slate gray eyes bore into his and though he wants to look away he feels like he can’t. She walks toward him and he’s frozen in place, her motions are fluid, graceful, similar to that of wildcats he’d seen outside of the walls.

 _Predatory_.

“Mikasa…?”

She puts her hand on his shoulder and smooths her hand slowly down his back.

“What are you–”

“Shh,” she says, both of her hands on his chest now, reaching teasingly toward the buttons on his shirt.

He swallows, his throat tight, his hands clenched into fists.

“Mikasa,” he says more firmly this time, but she silences him by grabbing his tie and pulling him down for a kiss.

He’s kissed women before. Plenty of times, plenty of ways.

But none of them were Mikasa Ackerman, the first and only woman who’d ever had him with just a look.

It feels like his whole body is on fire, and for a moment he’s frozen in place, but he’s quick to kiss her back. He takes her in his arms, runs his hands through her hair like he’s wanted to for years. She finishes unbuttoning his shirt, untucks it from his pants and slides it off his shoulders. He doesn’t know how she manages it but she pulls his undershirt over his head and throws that aside too, her mouth back on his just as quickly as before.

She pulls him towards the bed in the corner of the room. He would swear that all his blood has all rushed to his head if it weren’t for the sensation of his cock straining against his pants.

“Mikasa,” he says against her mouth.

She hums against him, her tongue in his mouth until he backs into the bed and he falls back onto it clumsily.

He looks at her and she’s unbuttoning her dress. He’s imagined this exact scenario so many times before, but it pales in comparison to actually seeing her delicate hands moving along her her body.

_Holy shit, this is happening. This is–_

_Wait._

_This is happening._

“Mikasa, hold on a second–”

“What?”

She says it like she’s angry, but she doesn’t stop unbuttoning her dress until she’s shrugging it off her shoulders and it falls to the ground in a puddle. He can see her nipples poking through her slip, the corded muscle of her thighs where her stockings end and his throat goes dry.

“Are you,” the words come out high pitched, like he’s a teenager. He clears his throat, trying to get a hold of himself. “Are you sure this is okay?”

She glares at him with those sharp, merciless eyes and he feels like he wants to go hide underneath the blankets.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me,” she looks down at his tented pants and he resists the urge to cover himself, “I can see that you do.”

“I..of  _course_  I want you, Mikasa,” he says frustratedly.

She pulls her slip over her head and takes off her stockings. He’s so sure that he’s going to faint right here, right now, at the sight of Mikasa Ackerman nearly naked. Her stomach is toned, her skin is pale and smooth looking, her breasts are small but round, with light brown nipples that peak out at him.

“Then what’s the problem,” she says dryly as she walks toward him. He feels like a tiny mouse in the presence of a lion, no, he’s not even worthy of being a mouse, he’s a lowly, spineless ant.

Still, he has to be sure.

“Is this what you want?” he squeaks out as she undoes his belt and unbuttons his pants.

She looks at him blankly, as if he has said something extraordinarily stupid.

“I don’t make a habit of doing things I don’t want to.”

She says it like he’s just asked her if the sky was blue, if the grass was green; a mundane detail that is true but completely unexciting.

It bothers him, this apathy of her’s in a moment that is supposed to be intimate. But she’s there, nearly naked and beautiful, the girl he’s dreamed of, wanted, fantasized about for over ten years.

He groans and puts his hands on her waist, finally giving in.

After that, it’s relatively easy. He presses kisses over her stomach, rubs his hands along her torso, relishing the taste of her skin, the feel of her muscles underneath his hands that are still-rough from years of maneuvering gear and war. He knows right then that he could kiss her, touch her, taste her forever and it’d never be enough for him, that he could do this every single day for the rest of however long or short his insignificant little ant-man life is as long as she were to let him.

She sighs breathily and this pushes him on further. He feels like he’s dreaming when he hooks his finger in her panties and pulls them down, revealing dark hair at the juncture between her legs.

He doesn’t remember when she took off his pants; he must have been too captivated by her.

She grabs his cock confidently, almost too confidently, gripping him too tightly.

“Ah!”

She looks surprised for a moment, but then it’s back to her usual look that he, in this instance, he recognizes as concentration.

Her palm grazes the head, her fingers gently tracing up the shaft and he shivers at the feeling of her warm hand.

His feet are planted firmly on the ground and he watches her as she toys with him, explores him from the tip of him to his balls, entirely too curious for someone who’s experienced in being around a naked man.

He forgets this quickly when she straddles him and slowly lowers herself onto him.

“Fuck,” he groans. She’s so goddamn warm, so tight around him. Not only that, he can smell her hair, feel her skin, hear her breathing against his ear, the creek of the mattress springs when she starts to move, slowly, cautiously, but not clumsily.

It’s amazing, watching her move. Her muscles tense and flex, she makes soft noises as she starts to find a rhythm that works for her, for the both of them because he can’t help but grip her tightly for how good it feels.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice tense and desperate. He knows it sounds ridiculous, but he has to tell her, needs her to know that she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He feels his body clenching and unclenching; he knows he’s close.

He’s embarrassed at how fast he comes, murmuring her name into her shoulder repeatedly, gripping his hands on her thigh.

She hops off of him gracefully while he catches his breath, a somewhat satisfied expression on her face, no different than how she would look after she’d mastered a new maneuver or completed the obstacle course faster than anyone else. She’s satisfied, but she expected to be.

So he catches her by surprise, pushes her down onto the bed and puts his hand between her legs, figuring out what she likes until he finds a motion that makes her toss her head back into his pillow and clench her fist into the sheets. After a few minutes, he feels her body tense up, a quiet “oh!” from between her slightly parted lips as she arches her chest off the bed and he feels her come with his fingers inside of her.

If he dies right now, he’d have lived a full life.

For a moment she looks at him with a softness he’s never seen before. She reaches forward and pulls him down to her, kisses him passionately but slowly, pulling on his bottom lip gently with her teeth.

She pulls away, and he looks into those beautiful, always haunted eyes and he swears he can see something like contentment in them for the briefest of moments.

It disappears quickly though. She pulls away from him, quickly gets up, and starts putting on her stockings.

The abrupt lack of her warmth, the impression of her touch already fading on his skin nearly makes him gasp.

He shakes his head.

_What? No._

“You don’t have to go, it’s late, you can stay here if you want.”

He tries to say it nonchalantly, like he doesn’t care either way but he knows that he fails spectacularly.

She glances over her shoulder, already putting on her green dress.

“It’s fine,” she says shortly, but not unkindly.

“Are you sure? It’s raining and–”

“I’m sure,” she says with a finality that he doesn’t question.

She makes to leave, but not before she glances at him, that same, brief and barely-there softness in her eyes.

“I’ll see you later.”

And she does see him later. They sleep together again, and then again. It’s surreal, because it’s even better than he could’ve imagined; what it would be like to love the girl of his dreams, what it’s like to let himself be consumed by her freely. Her touch, her smell, the sound of her voice repeating itself constantly when she’s not with him, making a home deep inside of him until she’s all he ever thinks about, all he ever wants.

After a month until she tells him that it isn’t right, that they should just be friends.

“Sure,” he says, as brightly as he can, but he feels his heart breaking in his chest. He knew that this would happen, knew that he could chase after her forever, that he’d never be able to capture her affection and that that’s perhaps the thing he’s always loved most about her. “I’m always here for you,” he says softly, grabbing her hand gently, the touch of a lover still the only one he knows to approach her with.

She holds his hand for a small moment then pulls away, but not unkindly.

“Thanks, Jean,” she says.

She smiles at him, but it’s the same, empty smile she gives everyone, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and makes her beautiful face look as close to ugly as it ever could.

He’d do anything he could to make this girl he loves happy, but he knows that whatever he has to offer isn’t enough, that he isn’t the dead man she still longs for.

But he can’t be Eren Jaeger. He never will be, and Jean can’t help but wonder if the part of Mikasa capable of loving died along with Eren.

She leaves his house and he’s alone but her presence still lingers around him.

_I wish I was enough._


End file.
